Chapter 54
Olivia
The hallway is too quiet.
Not silent—
never silent—but quieter than it should be.
And that’s worse.
Because it means something is happening behind those doors.
Something I can’t see.
Something I can’t control.
I hate that.
I shift slightly in the bed—
pain flares instantly, sharp enough to steal my breath.
“Don’t,” the nurse says gently from the corner. “You need to stay still.”
“I need to know what’s happening,” I counter, my voice tighter than I intend.
She hesitates.
Just for a second.
Then—
“They’re still working on him.”
Working.
Not stable.
Not okay.
My fingers curl into the blanket.
“Was it bad?” I ask.
Another hesitation.
That’s my answer.
I close my eyes briefly.
Because I already know.
I’ve seen injuries like that before.
Blunt force trauma.
Internal bleeding.
The kind that doesn’t always show itself until it’s almost too late.
The kind that—
No.
I cut the thought off hard.
Because I’m not doing that.
Not right now.
Not when—
The door opens.
I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until—
Russ steps back in.
And everything in me—
Stills.
He looks the same.
Same posture.
Same controlled movement.
Same steady presence.
But I see it now.
What’s underneath.
The tension in his shoulders.
The tightness in his jaw.
The way his eyes scan the room like he’s still in the middle of a fight.
Not relaxed.
Not even close.
“How is he?” I ask immediately.
No hesitation.
No pretending I don’t already know the answer matters.
Russ stops at the side of the bed.
Close enough.
Not touching.
Not yet.
“He’s fighting,” he says.
Not good.
Not bad.
Fighting.
My chest tightens.
“That’s not the same as stable,” I say quietly.
His gaze meets mine.
And there it is.
That flicker.
That moment where the truth almost breaks through the control.
“No,” he says. “It’s not.”
Silence settles between us.
Heavy.
Honest.
I swallow.
“Will he make it?”
The question feels too big.
Too sharp.
Too real.
Russ doesn’t answer right away.
And that—
That scares me more than anything.
Then—
“He’s got the best person in there with him.”
I blink slightly.
“Who?”
“Bowers.”
Hannah.
Relief hits me before I can stop it.
Because if anyone can pull someone back from the edge—
It’s her.
“She won’t let him go,” I whisper.
Russ nods once.
“No,” he agrees. “She won’t.”
There’s something in his tone.
Something knowing.
Like he saw it.
Like he understands something I haven’t fully put together yet.
My gaze drops briefly to my hands.
Then back to him.
His jaw tightens slightly.
“They needed me. I wasn’t there.”
I nod.
“I know.”
And I do. He stayed here with me. Now he feels guilty.
That’s the problem.
That’s the thing that settles deep in my chest—
Unavoidable.
Unchangeable.
This is who he is.
The man who runs toward the fight.
Who puts himself between danger and everyone else—
Every time.
Even when it costs him.
Even when it could—
I push that thought away too.
Because I’m starting to understand something I didn’t before.
Something I didn’t let myself see.
“This is your life,” I say quietly.
It’s not a question.
Russ watches me carefully.
Like he’s bracing for something.
Like he’s waiting for me to pull back.
To hesitate.
To decide it’s too much.
I hold his gaze.
And I don’t.
“I think…” I start, my voice softer now, but steadier. “I think I knew that before. I just didn’t see before what it means. This is your life. Not just now. Always.”
A flicker of surprise crosses his face.
Barely there.
But I see it.
“I just didn’t understand what it meant,” I finish.
Silence stretches.
But it’s different now.
Not uncertain.
Not fragile.
Something stronger.
His hand moves then—
slow, deliberate—
until it covers mine again.
Warm.
Solid.
Real.
“You do now?” he asks quietly.
I tighten my fingers around his.
“Yes.”
The word comes without hesitation.
Because I do.
I understand the danger.
The uncertainty.
The fact that this—
Whatever this is between us—
Will never be safe.
Never be simple.
And still—
I don’t pull away.
His thumb shifts slightly against my hand.
A small movement.
But it says everything.
“I meant what I said,” he tells me.
My breath catches.
I don’t make him repeat it.
I don’t need to.
“I know,” I whisper.
And for the first time since this all started—
I’m not afraid of that.
Outside the room, footsteps rush past.
Voices rise again.
The chaos isn’t over.
Not yet.
But in here—
In this moment—
Something settles.
Something certain.
And I hold onto it.
Because right now—
It’s enough.